


The Garden of Evil

by whoremet



Category: American Horror Story, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, cordelia is demeter, michael is hades, reader is persephone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 16:09:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoremet/pseuds/whoremet
Summary: Michael, God of the Underworld saw Kore picking flowers in her garden. Michael had grown lonesome without the joy of companionship in his dark domain. He knows he loves her, and though she may not yet understand it, soon she will too. Michael takes the fair goddess of spring growth, one hand on her wrist, one on her waist. He takes her to make her his dark queen.AHS with an ancient twistMichael Langdon x OC





	The Garden of Evil

Kore had been alive since she was born. No, not alive as in she breathed air, required nourishment and rest. Kore was  _ alive _ , alive like flowers were alive, constant and fierce, she shook people with the sheer force of the lovely colors of her petals. Her mother knew since she was small that Kore was the most wonderful thing she could ever create. The old Goddess had struggled so long, trying again and again to have a child, but she couldn’t. While the earth grew pregnant daily with crops, her own womb lay dead and barren. Until Kore, her little miracle. They lived quietly on Cordelia’s farm, from where she watched over all the Earth, urged wheat to sprout where dying old men had gifted her grapes and spring water, and reducing once-fertile soil to desert where they cursed her sacred name.

“Oh my dear Kore how beautiful you look in this spring’s bounty.” indeed she did. A crown fashioned from the Belladonna berry and golden wheat sat resting on her nest of golden-brown curls. If she lay on the fruitful soil of her mother’s home you would hardly know where the bare earth ended and her silken locks began. The young goddess wore a billowy gossamer gown that began under her collar bone, embroidered with moving flora. Her swan neck was decorated with her only gift from her father: a tiny crackling bolt of lightning. Zeus hardly acknowledged her during the feasts of Harvest, which were always held on Cordelia’s farm. He had Hera and all his other children to busy himself with, and Kore was hardly a Goddess. The Goddess of spring, the Goddess of bullocks is more like it. She longed even to be like Ares, violent and cast out but acknowledged at  _ least _ . Her mother was the only one who cared for her, the only one who gave half a thought to what swirled through this second rate Goddess’s head. For that Kore was eternally grateful, but how she longed to look beyond the border of fig trees that shielded her from the rest of the world. Kore often thought, when there was little else to think. When all the sadness she kept locked away decided it was dark enough to prowl, that she might give her last breath of air to only hear Zeus say he loved her. Only once. Every girl begs the approval of her father, even immortal goddesses of springtime. “Go and bless the growth sweet, bathe in the prayers of your worshippers.” Kore had scarcely three temples in all of Greece, but she was eternally grateful for them all. She kissed her mother on one sun-kissed cheek and ran out barefoot into the garden.

Kore was ever so proud of her garden. With its’ crawling ivy bushes, sprigs of lavender and nightshade. Hundreds of blue parrots flocked to her strawberry bushes and pomegranate trees, so she took up her hoe to care for the fruit, to appease her colorful friends.

“You are all so beautiful.” she commented absentmindedly watching two of the bird's circle above her in a lovers' embrace. Soaring above and under one another until Kore sighed for her lack of wings so she might do that same. But with whom? None of the suitors that came to profess their love had won her mother’s approval and Kore would sooner die alone than earn her only other parents’ disapproval.

____

He watched her like a heathen basking in the hallowed light of a saint. Michael, with his wreath of skulls and the stench of death that he could never be rid of. He was a heathen, and a heretic for focusing on the way her hips swung and commanded the rest of her body into a lazy dance, her partners were her flowers and those sapphire birds. It wasn’t the first time he had watched the gentle maiden in her garden, springing open a portal to his garden of death and walking up a staircase stained with the wretchedness of humanity. He would give up all of his power, he would watch the last drop of golden Ichor drip from his body for a second more in the sunshine paradise of his Belladonna’s garden. That is what he called her (at least in the solace of his mind)  _ Belladonna _ . The beautiful death. Sweet even as it stops your heart. He would eat her fruit by the bushel and die with an incandescent smile staining his lips the like of which had never before been known to grace the lord of death. He did not know how to stop the words even as they came. He called out to her.

“Belladonna!” somehow she knew it was she who was being addressed. The clever girl. She turned away from playing with a bug she had found crawling through the dirt and turned her eyes to him. Her eyes, which were the color of a ripened plum turned up to him. She regarded him with confusion and near fear. Those eyes, those enchanting eyes, fell on her quaint blue mud home and he could see her hands flutter in panic. “Fear not my sweetest, I come only to enjoy the fruits of spring, your flowers this year are the fairest I have ever seen. She blushes now, with all the charming timid innocence of her youth. Like a child complimented on their drawings. He was a stark image against the rolling greens of Cordelia’s farm, stook in a black cape, human souls moaning and trudging along its hem. The cape was rich, gold rope and precious stones spotted the rich fabric. Upon his brow sat a heavy crown decorated with golden spikes and melting skulls. He was like a macabre stain against the flower spotted pains.

“Michael, I did not expect this to be our first meeting.” nor did he, calling out to her had been pure impulse He had felt the overwhelming need to be seen by her. To be heard.

“Nor did I fair Kore, but I have something to show you if it would not trouble you too much.” the curiosity in her eyes was palpable. He had not yet revealed the flower to her. He held it behind his back and waited for her to come closer. She did, stepping hesitantly, but as though her own mind was prodding knives into her sides that urged her forward.

“No trouble at all, what is it that you wanted to show me?” he retrieved it at last and satiated her curiosity when she was little but two feet away from him, a distance she quickly closed when she saw what must have been the most beautiful plant on this earth.

“What is it?!” Michael stiffened and sighed when her lily-white fingers enclosed around his and snatched the flower from his fingers. It had eight triangular black petals with plum-colored veins gathering at its center like a lace doily. Purple stems coated in pollen rose from its’ center and she brushed her calloused hands against the silky black leaves. “It’s absolutely gorgeous,” she whispered and stroked the flower as if it were a kitten or a crying child. Her eyes were open wide as though she was a blind woman regifted her sight. Michael couldn’t help but smile at the radiant little creature holding his hands. This- queen, this holy saint, bestowing her blessing upon him through those hallowed fingers. Her hands were pink and freckled from all the long hours among her flowers. Those sun spots were to him as diamonds, sprouting from her skin as though it was a garden of riches. He wanted to kiss each of them, he realized. He plotted out the distance between them, imagining the map he would make with his lips.

“Kore!” Oh that heinous Demeter! He would banish her from Olympus if he could, and spit all her worshipers into Tartarus. There was hardly time to think, the girl was already turning her head in the direction of her mother, plump lips parting to shout her answer. Michael watched in surprise as he seized her, one arm on her wrist and one on her waist. But if Michael was surprised Kore was completely flabbergasted. She could hardly say anything against the Lord of the Underworld so she watched, as though out of body as he yanked her into a staircase she was sure had not been there before. Her scream was finally ripped from her body when she was already well into the dark. But there was nothing to do, like a feather swept from the tide, she watched the light dim and vanish above her, sucked more rapidly than she could imagine going, down into the Devil’s maws. She screamed, oh how she screamed. Cordelia must have heard her, for she saw the roots shake and tremble as they descended past anything holy or good, into the Underworld. Cordelia fought to have Kore back, she thrashed and clawed at the Earth, dug until ichor stained fingers, and urged all that she had power over to delve down and rescue her dear Kore. But Michael was one of the first, one of the most powerful. His legions were great, and his lands sprawling. Cordelia did not know what hid in the shadows of his realm for she had always lived in the sunlight of Olympus.

“Let me go!” is what she cried in between shouts to her mother. It was like a chant in Michael’s ears, and so it was easy to ignore. The sound melted together until it was like white noise, or a wave crashing on the shore. Michael was eventually comforted by her cries for help, for they had become so normal, so natural. It was when they stopped. When the furious pounding of her fists against his back ceased, and her screams turned to sobs. That’s when he stopped. They were at the door to the Underworld, a rotting wooden door was the only thing standing between the pair of them and the gloomy city of death. ‘ _ What’s wrong? _ ’ didn’t seem like the right thing to say in this situation, so Michael shifted the girl into his arms and set her down on the cold black stone. She slumped over and he caught her before her body smacked against the ground.

“Belladonna, stop your tears, they are unbecoming.” she had fury emblazoned across her countenance when she turned back to him. She roared and growled, her nails coming up to rip across his face.

“How dare you tell me what to do! You’ve abducted me from my home! I hate you! I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone! I hope humanity forgets you, I hope you fade and die!” through she screamed and thrashed Kore did not try to escape, she knew it was far too late for that. She was well into the Underworld, and its’ master stood above her, perfect ivory cheek dripping with golden ichor where her nails had cut him. But Michael wasn’t upset that she had maimed him, he was only concerned. His hands came to gently wrap around her arms and her suspicion flared. “What are you-”

“I know you’re confused now Belladonna, but you will come to understand why I took you, you will come to thank me for it. Now, would you like to be introduced to your new home?” she took his hand hesitantly and allowed him to open the door for her.

So the Queen of Death looked out over her dominion, a stained translucent dress clinging to her and feet dirty and unwashed. Her hair was unkempt and knotted, her cheeks were stained with tears. The Underworld was beautiful, in a strange way. Black moths and ravens were perched in deathly white willow trees that glowed and offered a source of light in the darkness. She could see the Asphodel Meadows clearly, countless souls wandering aimlessly, just as they did in life. She couldn’t see Elysium, but she could see the crystal blue waters lapping at sand that glimmered like crushed diamonds; the promise of paradise.

“What do you think?” Michael asked timidly, watching as she took it all in.

“It’s not as horrible as I imagined it would be.” she admitted quietly. Dark green grass swayed in a chilly breeze, she would need warmer clothes. The ground was spotted with the same flower Michael had given to her hours ago. There were black mountain ranges, and the river Styx cut a glimmering line through the middle of the landscape. It was dark, twisted and gorgeous. “It’s beautiful.” Michael led her gently into a black carriage decorated with a ruby the size of a human child. She gaped at the stone as he nudged her into a red seat and ordered the driver to take the pair of them to Michael’s palace. Laying against the pure white sand and crystalline waters were tall obsidian spires rising up into the darkness. Stained glass depicting Michael’s rise to power lined the entrance hall. The last window was behind a throne made of charred skulls with ruby eyes and it showed Michael with his helmet; Poseidon and Zeus stood behind him as if Michael were the king of the Gods and not her father.

“I will build you a throne too, my dear Belladonna, so that all our subjects may pay homage to their queen.” but the throne frightened her and she wanted nothing to do with it.   
  


“I don’t-” her voice emerged fragile and cracked. Beating weakly and searching for strength to continue in the face of evil. She could hardly speak to him she was so afraid. “I don’t want to be a queen, I’ve never wanted to be a queen.” the poor sproutling was on the verge of tears, standing so small in the face of all this death and power. She was only the goddess of spring growth, who would have known the god of death would have taken to her?

“But you will be.” there were no more arguments. Michael said it, so she accepted it. Any thought of arguing with one of the twelve was lost on her. “Now come, my queen, you must be tired.” he was like a boy when he took her hand. She could not feel the eras of wisdom those hands had seen, only soft flesh. It calmed Kore to know his hands were warm, it kid her into thinking maybe she wasn’t out of her depth, that maybe being here; with  _ him _ , wasn’t so bad.

After all, their veins ran with the same shade of gold.


End file.
